


Made His Jack

by grayglube



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 11:17:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8204014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayglube/pseuds/grayglube
Summary: “You make me laugh Mister Faraday.” “You’re not now.” She isn’t smiling when she retrieves her hat and her rifle, “I will after tomorrow is done.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohyellowbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohyellowbird/gifts).



> ohyellowbird wanted faraday fic so I wrote this, it's smut

She’s a neat queen of diamonds standing in the half-calf depth of the creek. She doesn’t even scowl at him. She sinks down slow enough that his eyeful is made more plentiful, when she’s crouched down low and still like a boulder he turns his head. “I’m just standing watch.”

 

All he can see in his mind once he’s turned is her fine high bosoms and red shrubs he’d sink to his knees to buss at.

 

“I didn’t take you to be made all of mouth bets and making tracks.”

  

The clean thing would be to smile and keep behind the tree he’s put his back up on and keep watch for her for true, the better thing would be to go. He doesn't do one, he doesn't do the other.

 

“I ain’t nary-one, Miss Emma.” He’s halfway soft down on her already for the things she says to him that most others wouldn’t whisper and maybe that's why he splashes in past his boots through the creek. He’s more than a bit stiff over her. He knows he ain’t got no docity and he’s too cross-grained for a good woman like her.

 

And a good woman she is, she’d thrown him a bag full of eagles and hard money because she cares for what’s left of what she calls hers, the land and the people who weren’t steadfast enough to gather together men that might make up the difference, still she's fought hard, is gonna fight harder still.

 

He’ll like be dead in a day and he’s a bettin’ man who’d say he’s not the only one who’d like to disremember that truth of what’s coming.

 

He’s in for it, rather hung for a sheep than a handkerchief and she’s soft under all his roughness, all hard callouses and dirt when she’s cream and sweetness. He’s willing to stand the gaff for slanting his mouth over hers, already open to holler, but first he slips his tongue over hers, hot and slippery and it’s been a good while since he’s tasted someone who didn’t come from Sunday man stock he’s had to pay for.

 

Her hands are love licks at his nape and shoulder, nails like tacks and she’s wet chested against his shirt front and her lips follow for his when he’s come back for the punishment he’s likely to receive. She follows his backward stumble from the creek and stalls him with a hand at his laces.

 

Like choking the horn she let’s go quick when he opens his mouth to gasp at her boldness like a girl. She goes pink cheeked and shy, he catches at her again with his mouth three by nine wide. “Well, Miss Emma. I’ll be dying tomorrow and thought you wouldn’t mind a kiss but you’re trying for my modesty.”

 

Her jaw tightens and she’s still bare as a babe and as pretty a lady he’s kissed before going off to do a thing he knows he should not do, she covers herself as best she can. “You ever go the big figure or just talk your way up to it to make everyone else look like a fool?”

 

He can’t keep from his grinning and she only scowls, “Well?” She presses for him to answer and he laughs loud once before minding the space between their feet so he won’t put his boots on her toes. She goes soft again in his grasp and this time his mouth keeps pace.

 

She pulls at his hat and his belt, he follows her down to where her skirts have been laid out to dry in the sun.

 

“Pirooting next to the creek, wouldn’t believe us if we told them would they?” She goes pale and sour, mouth pursed tight and hand limp where it had been holding tight.

 

“I didn’t mean that, I put my foot in it. Ain’t no time for sittin’ a lady properly when we might all have crosses put up over us tomorrow.” He waits and she nods forgiveness up at him with her hands closing over his shoulders and her knees opening around the jut of his hips. She doesn’t smile but she doesn’t look mad, there’s softness in how sad she is, it makes him feel like he’s been shot, she’s too good a woman to wear a look like that. He opens his big mouth over her breast and she loses her breath over his mouth's finer purpose.

 

Up on his hands and knees, the front of his laces too tight for comfort, the fiery cross of her hair spread out under head and under her thrown up arms and down between her open thighs is something he’ll see again when he’s settled all his bets and taking a last breath. She's too good of a woman for him.

 

“I don’t think I’ve seen a prettier front parlor Miss Emma.”

 

Her face colors and he settles against her breasts again, sucks two fingers clean and works them up and down her slit, gentle like where she's slicked up and warm, he pushes them in so easy that she only blinks up at him, open mouthed and barely breathing until he’s to the knuckle and she lifts and gasps.

 

He wonders how long it’s been since she’s had a man’s touch, since someone's stroked inside of her, and if she’s ever been laid out quite like he has her laid out now. He tells himself those are dangerous thoughts.

 

Her face scrunches like a cat's and her nails claw at his laces, he chocks her up with an arm under her backside and pulls her close, on his knees and she hefts up on her elbows to watch him touch up between her legs, the push of his thick fingers inside and then their wet exit. She looks at him pull his cock free and she watches him prod up against her, and open her up like only a man whose dead now has done before. It’s a disappearing act that leaves her gaspless.

 

There’s wet warm sounds between them, there are his sparse grunts and her careful whines. He wets his fingers in his mouth and touches around where he’s persuaded his way inside of her. The pink of her is a perfect hot grasp and she rocks up towards him, kneads at her own breasts like he would do if his hands were free, if there were more time, and falls back against the wide halo of her hair.

 

He spills inside and she only wraps her legs tighter, holds him closer, heels kicking at him. He hasn’t meant to but a voice in his head whispers there’s little chance anything will come to fruition by it. She might be his last woman. He shudders as he finishes.

 

She’s shivers up around him, his fingers replace where his member has been. He works a messy rhythm into her with three  blunt fingers until she keens and clutches his hand closer with both of hers, her finest bits grasping with his seed spread over his fingers and her pale thighs.

 

They set themselves back to rights, neat and nearly as tidy as before except he can smell her on his hand when he rolls and licks a fresh cigarette. He mumbles around it as he lights it, “You should see the dentist later. I've been called the Irish Toothache, you know.”

 

“You make me laugh Mister Faraday.”

 

“You’re not now.”

 

She isn’t smiling when she retrieves her hat and her rifle, “I will after tomorrow is done.”

 

For a moment he’d forgotten. “We could always do a bit of business later if it might amuse you,” he tells her. She doesn’t quite smile but she isn’t frowning either.

 

He whistles a ditty at her departing form.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> card references as titles till I die


End file.
